Rough Night
by Joannabelle
Summary: 'I've stayed in worse.' Ryan stands by his words, that motel on the way to TJ was nothing. AU to The Model Home. Oneshot.


**Title: Rough Night  
Summary: **Ryan finds himself in an odd situation.  
**Rating: **R  
**A/N:** An AU to The Model Home, season 1. There are warnings, but you don't get them yet- it's funner this way.

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Ryan rolled over again, kicking at the blankets.

He couldn't sleep. Sandy was going to send him to a group home in the morning.

There were strips of light bouncing around the room, reflections from the pool just outside. The bed he was lying in was so soft, so comfortable; he'd never touched sheets this expensive before.

But if he'd known this was how it was going to end up, he'd never have called the fucking number in the first place.

Theresa would have come 'round eventually. She wouldn't let him live on the streets.

He was stupid. Thinking back it would have been so much easier to just spend one night on the street, and go to Theresa's the next day. It wouldn't take too long for his mom to forget she'd kicked him out. She'd probably have a new boyfriend by then and she'd have forgotten everything about it, everything about anything. She'd have been back to the house and with all her possessions just as soon as AJ dumped her. He could've waited.

And here he was getting sent to live with a bunch of strange kids in a _group home_ all thanks to some public defender with an overly large heart.

A group home.

The words alone made him want to die of humiliation.

Finally giving up on any sleep, Ryan got out of bed. Grabbing his jeans and jacket from the bedside table, he got dressed.

He hadn't unpacked.

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The concrete tapped under his shoes as Ryan wandered down the road.

He'd been walking for at least a couple of hours.

This … wasn't as great of an idea as he had imagined.

It was fucking freezing. Which didn't even make sense seeing as he was in California, and it was the middle of summer.

Sighing, Ryan could literally see his own breath float upwards.

He needed to find somewhere to stay; he was going to fucking die of the cold.

There were giant, dark buildings around him, and Ryan had somehow managed to walk all the way to the side of town that had all the factories.

Warehouses stretched down the street, painting everything around him in a dull, dark gray and it was doing nothing for his mood.

He huffed, repositioning the bag on his back.

As he made his way further down the street he noticed the gates from one of the roaring factories were wide open, and there wasn't anyone nearby.

He knew an opportunity if he saw one.

Carefully walking closer, Ryan looked around to make sure no police were about to bust him. He slipped in next to the corner of the gate, nearest the hinges to stay out of sight.

Up ahead he could see a row of trucks, sitting motionless next to each other. He made his way towards the one of the very right.

The doors were tall and rusty, and Ryan reached out his hand to test the lock.

Newport was obviously under the impression they didn't have a single homeless person in their town, because the door creaked backwards as Ryan pulled.

It was dark inside, but it seemed empty.

Looking behind him once more, Ryan grabbed onto the step and hauled himself inside. It was marginally warmer, so it would do. Turning, he pulled the heavy door shut behind him.

He opened his eyes wide and tried to see something, anything to pitch black around him, and grabbed onto the wall behind him, feeling his way to the corner and running his hands along it until he finally got to the other side of the truck.

He'd have to find his way back to Chino in the morning.

Taking his bag off his back, he unzipped it, pulling out a spare pair of jeans and draping them over his lap. This would have to do for now.

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Ryan was woken sharply when the ground he was curled upon started to rumble.

For a few seconds he had no idea where he was. He'd opened his eyes but he couldn't see anything around him, until he realized he was sleeping in the back of a truck.

A truck that wasn't supposed to be _moving_.

Oh shit!

Ryan shot up straight and pressed his hands against the floor beneath him, trying to stop himself from vibrating up and down.

Fuck.

Oh FUCK.

He grabbed the pair of jeans that were in a heap next to him and fumbled around trying to stuff them back into his bag.

He was going to be in so much fucking trouble.

They were probably going to call the fucking police when they opened to back door and saw him sitting in there.

Shit, shit, shit.

Bugger, fuck, _damn_.

This was not cool. Not cool at all.

Raising his knees, Ryan wrapped his arms around himself, pulling his bag closer to his side.

What the hell was he going to say?

He highly doubted Sandy would be willing to get him out of this.

Shit.

After a few minutes the truck came to a halt, the bumping ride stopping, and he could hear the door of the drivers' seat open and get slammed shut.

There were voices from outside and Ryan stiffened when he heard the words "delivery" and "Newport Group" mumbled from the other side of the steel walls.

Holy fucking shit.

He fucking hated irony.

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Ryan groaned and chewed on the tip of his thumb.

Couldn't they just get it over with instead of making him sit here dreading the second they open the doors?

What the hell were they doing, anyway?

There were machines rumbling around him and Ryan couldn't hear anything over them, so he had no idea if there was even anyone near the truck anymore.

Sighing, he fiddled with the bottom of his jeans.

A sudden loud bang made him jump.

Looking upwards towards the noise Ryan froze when he saw a large trap door in the top of the truck sliding to the side, letting light stream in over his face.

Fuck.

Fists tightening he waited for someone's head to poke over the side and look down on him, yelling at him.

No-one did.

A huge tube-like object was being positioned over the tap hole in the roof, and Ryan was sure they were going to suddenly let it drop and the sharp looking base cut him into pieces.

The machines grew louder, until the sides of the truck were humming along with it.

Ryan couldn't look away as he heard faint yells outside of the truck and the noise got even louder.

When the first teddy bear came flying out and bounced to the other side of the truck, it's round glass eyes staring and it's stitched-on mouth grinning, all Ryan could do was stare in surprise.

When he finally looked up they had started pouring out of the tube, tumbling with light thumps on the floor around him.

Oh har. This was funny.

There were teddy bears piling around his feet, climbing their way until they were up to his knees and that's when Ryan stood up, with every intention of getting fuck back out.

The second step he took and he fell forward, swearing.

With a muffled thump he could barely hear, Ryan was lying face to face with an ugly brown bear.

He was being pelted with stuffed toys, they were raining against his back, and Ryan sighed.

This was fucking stupid – and he'd left his bag in the corner. He couldn't reach it now; the bears had piled up over his head. They were getting rather heavy.

Shit.

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Now what the hell had he done to deserve this?

Poking one of his loose fingers at the covered stuffing, Ryan sighed.

He was lying face down in a pile of teddy bears.

In any other situation this would be rather funny. But, fuck.

What kind of people transported a truckload of stuffed animals at this time of night?

Oh … wait.

Fuck.

And it also figures, of course, he would try and sleep in the only one getting filled that night.

Fucking hell. Some fucking luck.

As soon as the damn truck lets him out, he was going to have something to say about this.

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The machines had been off for what seemed like hours.

Groaning for the millionth time that night, Ryan ground his face against the hard bobble nose of the bear in front of him.

Ryan was inclined to start laughing. This was, by far, the most ridiculous situation he'd ever gotten himself into.

He was trapped in a truck full of toys in the middle of the night and nobody knew where he was.

The truck still hadn't moved and Ryan had no idea how long he'd been lying here.

Surely they weren't going to wait until morning?

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Fuck.

What the fuck was taking them so fucking long?

He couldn't hear any noise at all, the stuffing around him muffling his heartbeat. His breath was getting warmer and Ryan was getting itchy. When he buried his head into the teddy in front of him and tried to take a breath through it all he got was a lungful of dust that made him cough.

This was downright shameful.

There was a plastic eye pressing into his chest that had been bugging him for a while and whenever Ryan wriggled around it seemed to poke him back harder.

He was going to have a few bruises when this was all over. He could just picture what would happen if this was found out – 'boy holds battle scars from vicious ordeal with children's teddy bear'. His brother would never again be able to look him in the face without laughing.

Har har har.

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Okay, this wasn't so funny anymore.

He was willing to go home now, thanks.

Ryan moved his arm and tried to push some of the bears out the way but his hand just sagged into them with no decent result.

Fucking Newport had to get the best of fucking _everything_. Damn the things were heavy – what the fuck did Newport put in their stuffed animals? Lead?

How long does it take to get a truck started up?

When the fuck were they going to let him out?

Moaning, he rested his head against the sort stuffing, biting onto his dry lip. He hadn't been able to take a fresh breath for a while now. He was sure that was a bad thing.

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Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit.

He was going to die.

There was no one coming – he's been here for hours and they'd done their job and gone home for the night.

He pushed at pile around him, not quite sure the way up anymore, and every time he took a breath his ears would pound and his hand retreat. His fingertips had started to ache with dread, a dull thudding he could feel tapping the skin under his nails every time his heart beat against his chest.

Every now and then he'd move his hands a bit, pushing at the soft walls around him but nothing worked. The air around him tasted warm and stale and used, and when he buried his face into the teddy bear in front of him and tried to take a breath all he got was a lungful of dust, drying up his throat, making him cough.

He scrunched up his face, whimpering. There were tears sliding down his cheeks and Ryan couldn't wipe them off and they were wet and sticky.

He was sure he could feel himself starting to rot – and when they finally unpacked him all they were going to find was a crumbling mess, soaking into the fabric of children's stuffed toys. He'd be black and soggy and they'd have to peel him off the animals' faces and throw him in the garbage, then ship the toys the fuck out of Newport and away from their kids, telling each other 'what a waste of a truck'.

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It was too hot. He was sticky with sweat, the fake fur peeling off his skin whenever he tried to move.

No one was coming. He'd been here for hours, his mouth was crisp and his ears were bung and someone would have done something by now.

There had been no urgency for him to leave the Cohen's. He was so _stupid_. Sandy had told him over dinner that they would still be able to see each other. That he would try and track down Dawn.

He could have been sleeping on a bed right now, an actual bed, and he had to ruin it.

What the fuck was he thinking running away in the first place?

He could be safe away in group home right now. He might have been a bit mad but he would be breathing.

He wouldn't be dying in a pile of stuffed animals.

He was so stupid, so utterly, utterly stupid. And it was no-ones fault but his.

Trying to lick a bit of life into his cracking lips, Ryan sagged even further into the mess of animals.

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There was rough fabric in front of him, it was scratching at his face.

Reaching his hand up, Ryan rubbed his cheek.

He was standing in the middle of a field. There were teddy bears around him.

"Ryan, would you like some tea?"

Turning with a jump, Ryan looked down at the giant teddy bear seated near his feet.

Its big plastic eyes were shining as it smiled up at him, its teeth a jagged mess.

It opened its mouth wider and its voice turned to gravel.

"Come have some tea, little boy."

Ryan felt a paw wrap around his ankle, and he was jerked forward, his leg slipping out from underneath. Landing on the blanket, everything was soft.

The bear smiled at him again, and poured something into a glass.

"Here you go, darling. Drink up."

The cutlery was shoved into Ryan's hands and he raised it to his lips without hesitation, gulping down the gooey mess, savoring the copper flavor on the back of his teeth.

"You have a very nice house." He informed.

The bear grinned wider, its tongue wet and sparkling, and it made Ryan even thirstier.

Leaning forward casually, he licked it.

It tasted like soap.

There were prickles against his arms, jabbing into him, stinging his skin. He leant away from the bear, staring into its big glossy eyes.

Everything tasted like soap.

His fingertips were aching as he rubbed them into the fur. He tried to take a gasp of breath but his throat was closing around him, the air falling back out of his mouth with a whoosh.

His clothes were crisp and crackling, like dried lettuce and Ryan fell back on his hands, looking up at the sky.

It was filled with bubbles; they were floating around his head.

He could see reflections in them of the trees, and there were so many of them they were starting to smother him in soapy cascades.

He felt the bear snuggle closer to him, hands running down his chest, pulling at his shirt.

He grasped the blanket under his fingers, smiling.

His head was starting to fog, and he couldn't see anything clearly through the bubbles. The sun above him was distorted, shining at him from all angles, bright against his face.

Ryan closed his eyes.

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**Warning:** This fic contains character death, beastility and er ... lots of badlanguage.

Was written for Brandywines Table of Death. :)

Reviews are alwaysappreciated. And if you feel like it - flame my ass. It'll make my day.


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